


A Minist'ring Angel

by PhaedrusOfAthens



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: Fluff, Headaches & Migraines, Historical Lams, Illnesses, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Sick Character, Stubbornness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 01:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12158973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhaedrusOfAthens/pseuds/PhaedrusOfAthens
Summary: Alexander wakes up rather ill & John tries to care for him.





	A Minist'ring Angel

I awoke with a splitting headache. Rain tapped lightly at the windows and I could tell it was still well before dawn. I clutched at my hair barely still in its queue from a restless night of sleeping and pulled it at the temples trying to relieve the tension in my head. It was not working.

The blanket felt prickly against my skin and far too hot. I tried my best to disentangle myself from Laurens’ grasp so I could pull the blankets back without him noticing. He would worry far too much if he found out I was sick and I needed to work; my talents were needed today.

Unfortunately, my careful disentanglement was not careful enough and John’s eyes sleepily fluttered open. He quirked a half-cocked smile at me and whispered, “What are you doing?” I winced as he kissed me on the forehead and he pulled back with a frown. “You’re burning up.”

“I’m just a little warm,” I tried brushing him off. “I was just trying to adjust the blankets.”

Placing his hand on my forehead, I pulled back to try to avoid his ministrations, but was stopped by the wall. Trapped.

“Alexander,” he chided. “Let me check.”

“I’m fine. Truly,” I lied and pushed his hand back.

“You are not,” he said firmly, but didn’t try to test my forehead again. Instead, he sat up and crossed the room. “At least have some water,” he said, pouring a cup.

“Fuck, Laurens,” I groaned. “You worry too much.”

  
“Tsk,” he said at my language. “Tell me I’m wrong to worry today.”

I didn’t reply and gingerly lowered my head back down to the pillow. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Laurens brushed a strand of hair from my forehead and tried to hand me the cup. I pushed it away.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked softly, ignoring my pointed attempts at resisting his care.

“Nowhere,” I insisted. “Trust me, Jack. I know what it’s like to be sick. I’ll be fine.”

“Then drink the water,” he said again. “Healthy people need it too.”

God, he was relentless. I propped myself up on an elbow and winced at the sudden movement as a new wave of pain made its way from behind my right eye and up through the back of my head. I took the cup from his waiting hand and hoped he hadn’t noticed.

He noticed.

I downed the water trying to block out the sounds of his scoff. Everything hurt.

“We should get up and ready,” I said groaning and making a motion to get out of bed. A concerned look crossed his face, but he didn’t try to stop me--thankfully.

Laurens watched me attentively me as I carefully and slowly readied myself for the day. Every motion was agony and even more painful was trying to hide it from Laurens.

He waited for me patiently on the bed he had now made until I was finally ready. Rising slowly, he walked towards me, rubbed his thumb along my cheek and looked in my eyes. “Promise me that you’re fine.”

I averted his gaze and said, “I’ll live.”

  
He didn’t seem quite satisfied. “That’s not an answer.”

I made a mocking face back at him, or at least I tried to. In actuality it came out as a ridiculous combination of a grimace and my usual mocking face that annoyed him so much. Yet he continued to stare at me with that same concerned look. Relentless.

“I promise,” I said in a small voice.

“Good.”

Walking out the door, the morning was brisk and the cold air seemed to help my headache, but the movement was more agonizing than I anticipated.

“Breakfast?” Laurens asked as we neared the kitchens.

“Coffee,” I whimpered.

Glancing around, Laurens put his hand on my shoulder. “Please can I take you to see the doctor? Coffee will not help.”

“No. No, no. I’m fine,” I insisted. “I just need coffee. Please.”

***

My usual cup of plain black coffee settled in my stomach as we worked and was probably a terrible mistake. I was burning up. Damn that Laurens. I softly groaned into my letter and only briefly rested my head in my hands.

“Hamilton,” Washington said tersely as if he had said my name many times before trying to get my attention. The rest of the aides were staring at me. I turned to look at him.

“Sir?” I responded.

“Go see a doctor,” Washington glared at me. I opened my mouth to argue. “That’s an order.”

What had I been doing that prompted this? “Laurens,” I heard Washington say. “Go with him. Make sure he is actually seen.”

“Yes, sir,” Laurens said promptly and rose from his seat to take me by the arm.

“What makes him think I’m ill?” I bemoaned to Laurens when we were out of earshot.

“Alexander, you had your head in your hands for almost an hour,” Laurens insisted. It could not possibly have been that long, could it?

“He can’t make me go,” I replied in a last ditch effort.

“Perhaps not, but I can. You promised me this morning that you were well enough to work. That is clearly not the case.”

He was right. I had promised.

***

“A simple case of influenza,” I reiterated to Laurens on our walk back from the doctor.

“A bad enough case to send you back to bed,” he reminded me.

I crossed my arms, but didn’t argue. All I wanted was our bed.

Back at our room, Laurens gently removed my coat, shirt, and stockings and folded them on the floor. “In bed,” John said softly as he turned it down. There was no hesitation on my part. The bed was the sweetest part of my day. As my head hit the pillow, relief washed over me.

I heard Laurens pour some water and set the cup on the bedside table. “I expect that gone when I come back.”

“I will if you bring back any unfinished work from today,” I tried to negotiate.

He scoffed, but said, “I’ll see what I can do.” He kissed me lightly on the forehead and furrowed his brow as he pulled away.

“You worry me,” he whispered.

“I’ll be perfectly fine tomorrow,” I reassured him.

“You better be,” he softly chuckled at my tenacity. He glanced back as he left the room to continue about his day.

I tossed and turned in pain for a few minutes before settling on my side and feeling a pang of guilt for lying to him in the first place. Though he doted when he worried, it was an undeniable fact that it was wonderfully satisfying to have someone who cared enough to worry in the first place.

 


End file.
